Across the Irish Sea
by hazelhollyhock
Summary: A Jedediah Shine story. Takes place after Series 2 and "His Josephine," and prior to Series 5. Minor spoilers are possible for for Series 5.


Belfast, Ireland 1899

The doctor quieted, waiting patiently for Jedediah to respond before saying more.

Jedediah steeled himself.

Turning to look toward the window, his maroon scars and pallid complexion highlighted by a stream of sunlight, his deeply lined brow furrowed, "She has made a considerable amount of personal sacrifice for my benefit." He stopped. Lost in thought. "You told us once that she simply needed more exercise. I wonder, should I return her to London for a second opinion. Get her out of this Irish shithole…"

"No, Mr. Shine, " the doctor interrupted, stopping him, causing Jedediah to turn and look at him sharply. "I fear she may not survive the journey back to London. She needs rest and comfort now."

He white-knuckled the top of his cane, a silent storm brewing within.

The doctor continued, all business, "I will be increasing her morphine intake. We have a nurse who will visit daily and assist, if necessary. Please, if there is anything we can do…"

Jedediah scoffed.

The doctor, observing the man before him, found him a most enigmatic soul. He wore a fine, white shirt which was perfectly tailored to his figure. His collar was perfectly stiff. He wore a cravat with an emerald pin, and his fine silk waistcoat, upon which an elegant timepiece chain sparkled, was striped with lavender and taupe. His dark brown trousers were impeccably tailored for his height, and they showed no wearing in the knees. His boots were worn, but of good quality. The lines of his athletic figure were perfectly accentuated by his clothing. Jewelry was minimal. He wore a ring on his left index finger, one on his right pinky finger, but no wedding band.

It was obvious a meticulous eye had spared no detail, which made the rest of his presence inexplicably confounding. His hair, darkly greasy and bushy, neglected and speckled with flakes of dry skin. His face, too, was oily and unclean. His eyes, puffy from lack of restful sleep, for these days he was mostly rendered unconscious only from his drug ministrations, showed a considerable lack of luster. The left eye that suffered so much scarring, protruded slightly more than the right, its lid occasionally fluttering involuntarily. His bushy beard, typical of so many men on the streets of Belfast, elongating his already wolf-like countenance, giving him both a sad and maniacal countenance. His odor, however, may be the hardest to understand. There was almost something defensive about it, it literally walked ahead of the man. Sitting across from the doctor, Jedediah Shine was like a predator in repose, emitting a noxious warning.

"Mr. Shine. How are you faring?"

Jedediah got up and leaned on his cane, looking down at the doctor for a moment before turning and limping towards the door. The doctor felt that even with a cane and a considerable weakening of his stature, Shine looked like the most formidable creature he had ever seen.

"If I were to ask you, 'Doctor, when will that hour come, when I must to sulfurous and tormenting flames return?' Would you be able to answer me this question?"

The doctor's mouth was agape.

"No? Then it makes no bloody difference. Doctor."

Josephine's hospital room was like any other: the smell of camphor and bleach in the air, the window was open to allow fresh air in, curtains gently shushing each other from the breeze.

A young nurse jumped up and excused herself when she noticed Shine in the doorway.

Josephine lay on her back, peaceful, her dark hair carefully brushed. She was deeply asleep. He came to the foot of her bed and watched her.

Slowly, Jedediah stepped around her bed and eased down to sit on the mattress near Josephine's knees, his body angled towards her. He turned his head, and ran a gaze over her whole form, committing to memory the very shape of her.

Josephine took a deep breath and her brow tightened. Jedediah's attention flew to her face. She shifted slightly, turning her face towards him.

Jedediah inched closer to her and looked down at her visage. He whispered to her, "do you dream?"

Josephine's forehead relaxed; she was calm and peaceful once more.

With his right hand, he gently scooped up her left, her fingers reflexively curling around his.

With the back of his left hand, he caressed her left temple, easing some of her hair away from her face. He exhaled audibly and sat like this for some time.

Josephine floated to consciousness slowly. She inhaled deeply and fluttered her eyes.

"Jedediah…" Josephine breathed. Her mouth was dry, her voice raspy.

Closing her eyes, the haze of the morphine affected her deeply. "Look at me," he ordered quietly.

She did. Her large dark eyes opened and found his. The two stared at each other for what seemed like an age. She noticed his puffy eyes, his clenched jaw. The weight of the world on his shoulders. Tears began to well in her eyes and she shook from the emotion. He tightened his grip in response.

"I'm so sorry."

Jedediah said nothing. He simply shook his head to stop the notion that she owed him that.

"We're going home, my dear."


End file.
